Good Intentions: Part One
by abrynne
Summary: Con't from Dark Horse - If it were up to John, Sam would have nothing to do with his work. But when another number comes up, John is forced to ask Sam for help in protecting one of the richest men in the world. It seems simple enough...
1. Take a Breath

Part One

Cold air bit at his face as he entered the old library. His breath hung in front of him in a heavy mist before being taken away by the rush of air that came as he opened the door.

It wasn't much warmer on the lower level of the library. John still saw his breath as he ran up the steps to the second floor. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping no ice crystals had formed. It felt like they had on his nose and ears.

His partner was nowhere to be found in the makeshift office amongst the shelves of books and papers. John glanced out the window, snow had started falling again. This was setting up to be one of the colder winters New York had seen in a while.

"Glad you were able to thaw yourself out long enough to join me, Mr. Reese," Finch's familiar drawl came from amongst the book shelves.

He appeared, holding a tall, lidded cup and handed it to John. The heat from the coffee loosened the muscles in his hand, seemed to travel all the way up his arm as he held it.

"Thanks," John said, taking a sip and sighing out of relief.

"They're saying we're going to have a record freeze after sunset this evening. I hope you have extra blankets," Finch lifted his eyebrows.

"I'll be just fine, Finch. It is nice that you worry about me, though."

Finch rolled his eyes. "We have another number, Mr. Reese. It came up last night. A Mr. Conrad Frederick De Kamp III."

"_The _Freddie De Kamp?" Reese leaned down so he was level with the computer monitors.

Finch cleared his throat. Reese stood up and Finch took his seat at the desk.

"I'm not surprised you've heard of him. He's one of the richest people in the country. Several countries, in fact."

"Well, so are you."

"But as I am dead, I don't count, Mr. Reese." Finch scrolled through a page on one of the monitors. "The point is that he will be difficult to get to. His list of potential enemies is extensive. He's bought out businesses thus causing many to lose their jobs; his political viewpoints are very public. Unofficially, he's done business with a few of our late mob bosses. Needless to say he has round the clock security in his houses, his offices, both of his jets, and boats. Wherever he goes, he's watched and protected, in some ways better than the President. Along with being a brilliant business man, he's abnormally paranoid."

Reese blinked. "Sounds like you two would get along, Finch. So, with all of this security, why would he need me to help him?"

Finch swiveled in his chair, looking up at John. "He may not be the victim, Mr. Reese. Your job is to find out which he is and act accordingly, remember? My advice is that you keep your surveillance to public arenas. It will be slower work, but I have a few ideas that will help you along."

"Such as?"

Finch turned back to the monitors. "Mr. De Kamp is always busy, almost always in the public eye. Press conferences, charity events and so on. You can almost take your pick."

"Why do I feel like you're not telling me the whole story?" John eyed him suspiciously.

"There is a particular event that I think you should attend. It will be difficult to get into, but I believe I can manage it."

"What is it?"

"It's a charity event that Mr. De Kamp holds every year for his father's foundation. Security is tight on the outside, but once you get in, there's a little more breathing room."

John studied his partner for a moment. "What's the catch, Finch?"

"You'll only need to observe, perhaps get close to Mr. De Kamp if possible. There is also a press conference being held the day before. That should be easy enough for you to infiltrate."

"Finch," John said sternly.

Finch glanced up at John, like a mouse caught in a trap. "I'm afraid you won't like it, Mr. Reese."

* * *

Great, it was snowing _again_. Sam blew on her hot chocolate after it nearly burned her lips off a few seconds earlier. Instead of taking a sip, however, she set the mug down on the counter in response to a squawk that came from the living room.

Wrapping herself in her blanket, Sam shuffled into the living room when someone knocked at the door.

"Okay. I'm coming!" she called. Sam peeked into the Pack & Play that sat next to the couch before scampering over to the door.

Sam opened the door and had to resist her first impulse. "John!" she said. Rather than tackle him, which is what she first considered doing, she stood on tip toe and wrapped her arms around his neck. John smiled and hugged her back.

"You are freezing! Haven't you ever heard of a hat?" She put her hands to his face as they broke apart.

"I was outside for just a minute," John said, smiling.

"Yeah, tell that to your ears. They're like lobsters. Come in and warm up."

A cry came from inside the apartment. John peered curiously past Sam as she invited him in.

* * *

John breathed as he entered Sam's apartment. It was as though, with her, he was allowed to breathe for a moment.

The apartment itself looked rather barren. A few boxes lined one bare wall, and the only furniture was a couch, rocking chair, and the Pack & Play.

The crying grew louder, more forceful.

"Ooooh, whassamatter?" Sam cooed, reaching into the Pack & Play. She pulled out a baby, swaddled in several blankets and also wearing a tiny knit hat.

She bounced him up and down, but he continued fussing. "I just changed you, and you just had your nap… are you hungry again?" Sam asked the little baby, acting as though he was able to answer. The baby remained upset despite her dulcet tones.

John watched her and took off his coat, but there wasn't really anywhere to put it.

"Oh, hang on," Sam shuffled up to him, her blanket lay forgotten on the floor next to the makeshift crib. "Will you take him for a second?"

She gently set the baby in John's arms and laughed at the way he held him. She pulled at John's right arm, "One arm under his bum," she explained. "The other to support his back and head," Sam guided John's hand to the baby's back and neck. "There. He's only about two and a half months, and they can't really support themselves yet at that age. I'll hang your coat up, and I'll make him a bottle. Oh," she looked to the couch, which was made up as a bed at the moment. With one sweep, she ripped the bedding off of the couch and threw it in a corner. "Have a seat."

Sam scampered into a hallway with John's coat. Then back in and past John into the kitchen.

"Did you just move in?" he called to her. He lowered himself slowly onto the couch so as not to jostle the still fussy baby.

Sam laughed from the kitchen. "Yeah! About three months ago. Don't judge me too harshly."

John smiled to himself. "No, not too harshly," he said. "I shouldn't, should I? Judge her too harshly." He continued talking in a low voice to the baby until the baby stopped, and rested on John's chest as though exhausted from the effort of crying.

Sam came out of the kitchen, holding a bottle and looking astounded. "He's quiet."

John shrugged innocently, gently patting the baby's back to a slow rhythm.

Sam rushed over and sat down next to them, looking at the baby's face. "He's just sitting there. He's not asleep, he's just… there. What did you do?"

John shook his head. "Baby's tend to... like me."

Sam laughed, baffled. "I'll add that to my list then. Do you want to feed him?" She held up the bottle.

"I'd better not," John said, lifting the baby into Sam's arms. She sat back, cradling the little boy, who began to fuss once he left John, and put the rubber nipple to his mouth. He calmed down again, busy with his new task.

"What list?" John asked.

Sam grinned slyly. She hefted the baby up a little and crossed her legs upon the couch cushion, resting the child in her lap as she fed him. "I'm compiling a list of Interesting Facts About John Reese. 'Good With Babies' will be added to it. Eventually, I plan to publish it on the internet."

John frowned and glared a little.

"Wow. I'm kidding! Calm down, John."

John relaxed again. "So, whose…" he gestured to the baby.

"Right, yes, this is Benjamin Kenneth Jefferson. Eva's son. I'm giving her and her mother-in-law a break. I took him for the weekend," she took off Ben's little hat and stroked the shock of dark hair on his head. "Thank the maker it's Sunday. She'll be coming to pick him up a little later. One thing they neglected to tell me about this place when I moved in was that the heating isn't very reliable, especially in this cold. This room stays the warmest. We both have been sleeping out here." Sam pulled the bottle out of Ben's mouth and looked at the remaining contents. Ben squawked again and the bottle went back in.

John smiled as he watched her. "That's kind of a good look for you, Sam," he said before he could stop himself.

Sam raised her eyebrows in surprise. "The rock hard feminist inside me wants to smack you for that, but thank you. I've always liked kids. I'm pretty sure I'd like my own a lot more."

Ben began battling the bottle with is curled up fists.

"Are you finished?" Sam asked in a high voice. "You don't want it anymore?" She wiped off his face and sat him up. Ben leaned forward in her lap, his front supported by Sam's hand. He looked around blearily as Sam patted his back.

"How have you been doing?" John asked.

Sam looked back up at John, "To be completely honest, I'm tired of that question."

"Makes sense," John nodded. It had only been a little over three months since Sam had lost her family and her life had been turned upside down.

Ben let out a mini burp, disturbing the quiet.

"Ah! There we go!" Sam said happily.

Ben burped again in the silence. Sam continued patting him gently on the back.

"John."

"Yes?"

"You're not here just for a visit." She wasn't guessing.

John leaned forward and sighed. "No, I'm not. Sam – do you know how to dance?"

Sam's mouth opened out of surprise. "Is this your round about way of asking me out?"

"No," John went over Finch's explanation in his head once more. There had to be some way out of this. "There is a place I have to get into, but they don't allow singles inside."

"Single what?"

"People."

"So you need someone as a sort of… escort?"

Ben let out a big one and Sam, figuring that was the end of it, wrapped him up again and rested him against her.

"In a manner of speaking," John said.

"John, just tell me why you're here, and we can go from there."

"There is a charity event I have to go to this Friday night. In order to keep the numbers even, they don't allow singles inside. Being a cop, Carter can't do it, and Zoe will probably already be there with someone, and Finch says she's too recognizable anyway." John went on as though he were talking to himself.

"Zoe? Who's Zoe?"

"Just someone I've bumped into when I was working," John explained quickly.

"John, I don't think I've ever heard you say so much in one breath. Are you asking me to go to this thing with you?"

"Finch is, yes," John corrected, appearing a little uncomfortable. "It will only be for observation."

Sam's eyes widened and she gaped at him. "You're asking me to help you save someone, aren't you?"

"Sure."

"I'd love to," Sam said quickly.

John eyed her, uncomfortable with her eagerness. "It's formal, black tie, and a traditional dance, so I'm told."

Sam inhaled sharply through her teeth, her expression pained. "Do you dance? I don't really. Just a little swing."

"I've never had to, no."

"So what do we do?"

"When is Eva coming to pick up Ben?"

John's timing couldn't have been more perfect, because there was a knock at the door. John stood with Sam. She cradled the baby into his arms. Ben was asleep. John held him carefully so as not to wake him.

Sam opened the door. "Hey, I thought you weren't coming until this afternoon?"

"He couldn't stop worrying. You're our first sitter," Eva entered the room followed by a man with thick curly hair, glasses and a goatee. John turned holding the sleeping baby.

"Sam, who is this man holding my child?" the man with Eva asked. Eva elbowed him in the ribs.

"That's my friend, John, he just stopped by a few minutes ago." Sam introduced the man as Eva's husband, Leo.

"Is this the guy from the coffee shop?" He looked at Eva who nodded and winked at John.

"Eva says that you beat up some dude who was waving a gun in her face," Leo said, approaching John.

"More or less, yes," John muttered.

"Come on, babe, your Mom's waiting," Eva said. She took Ben from John and strapped the baby into a car seat.

"You know that I will shake this man's hand!" Leo pronounced.

"Yes, sweetie. Shake his hand, then let's go."


	2. Before the Storm

Sam heard a door open and felt the blindfold being removed from her face. She opened her eyes as John led her to a staircase.

"This is HQ?" she asked, stepping over books that were strewn about on every surface. The room was vast, but cluttered and had a faint smell of mold.

They walked up the stairs and Sam saw a desk, several computer monitors sitting upon it. It was pushed up against the wall, leaving a large space in the middle of the floor.

"_This_ is HQ," John confirmed.

"Good afternoon, Miss Tudin," Finch stepped out from behind a bookshelf. "I trust you haven't frozen to death?"

"Not yet," Sam smiled.

"Has Mr. Reese explained things to you?"

"Mostly."

"This is just for observation,"

"Right."

"No confrontation."

"Got it."

"Good," Finch's gaze lingered upon Sam for a moment before he moved to the computer desk. "Mr. Reese is normally very capable of blending into a setting. But this situation is a little more delicate.

"That being the case, you two will have to look like you know what you're doing while you're in there."

John's eyes moved to the ceiling and Sam suppressed a laugh.

"Take off your coats, please," Finch said, sitting at the desk, his back to them.

Sam took a little longer than John in removing her outerwear. She had on a knit hat, two scarves, gloves, and boots over her normal shoes. Once everything was off, Sam ran a hand through her hair, and quickly put it up in a clip.

John stood next to her in dark grey slacks and a deep plum colored shirt. He always dressed so nice. Sam wondered if he owned just one t-shirt.

Music started playing in the room; a waltz by Strauss.

"Come here Miss Tudin," Finch beckoned to Sam.

Sam stepped forward as though she were back in school and was being called up to the front by her teacher.

"I'll show you the stance first." Finch took Sam by the hand and pulled her to him. Sam stiffened as he put his hand in the middle of her back and took her right hand in his left.

"Oh yes, that I know," Sam said putting her hand on Finch's shoulder, desperately trying to keep a straight face.

"Hand slightly above the center of the back," Finch explained. "Let's see if Mr. Reese knows it, shall we?"

Finch released Sam and John strode over to them, looking as though he'd prefer jumping out the window. He took Sam's right hand in his left and placed his hand on her back, holding her to him just as Finch demonstrated.

Sam automatically stood on tip toe when John took her. Her hand didn't quite reach his shoulder. She smiled at him. The corners of his mouth twitched.

"You don't have to do anything too complex. It's basically step, together, step, together. Miss Tudin, you follow his lead. Now, let's try it."

Finch started the song over again. "And – One – "

Sam and John stepped in two different directions, both of them wrong. It resulted in a stumbling clump of legs. "Ow! Ow, ow," Sam said. John held onto her, keeping them both from falling over.

"Mr. Reese, you are like a plank of wood. You have to tell her where to go," Finch said, stopping the music. "All right, let's try a different approach."

Finch started the music again and took Sam to the center of the floor with him. It was a little easier with Finch. He was just about her height, not to mention the fact that he knew more of what he was doing. In spite of his disability, he was able to guide Sam around and across the floor easily. There wasn't a lot of finesse to it, but Sam felt a little more confident after that.

John watched them, leaning against the outside wall with his arms folded, and brow furrowed in concentration. When Finch released her he stepped forward, taking Sam's hand. "That's all you had to do, Finch," he said as though it was obvious.

"What?" Sam said as the music began again.

Sam was on her toes again, but this time she felt the gentle pressure from John, guiding her where to go just as Finch had done.

"One – two – three. Don't – step – on. Her – feet – please – " Finch said to the beat of the music.

Sam stumbled, having come close to another brush with John's destructive feet.

"Sorry."

"No, that was me. You've got it, John. You're a quick study."

"Comes with the job."

"Mr. Reese, you're still stiff as a board," Finch said.

"We're not going into competition, Finch," John replied testily.

"Don't simply move her along the same path, Mr. Reese. Improvise," Finch added, nodding his head to the rhythm. "And by the way, you two will have to look like you're at least trying to enjoy yourselves at one point or another."

Sam looked up at John, who met her gaze. She sighed guiltily and kept going, knowing full well that she'd nearly been sticking her tongue out in concentration as she followed John's movements.

"Miss Tudin, look at him, not your feet, please," Finch instructed.

Sam pressed her lips together hard. She was desperately trying to learn the dance, but a lot of her concentration was being used in keeping her laughter at bay. She and John looked at each other, then immediately looked away. Apparently, John was having some difficulty as well.

He released his hold on her and lifted her hand over her head in a gentle turn, and pulled her back again.

"Good, good," Finch said.

The song ended. John still moved, leading Sam around as though the music was still playing. Finch scrambled around to start another song.

* * *

That week, there were a few more dance lessons. Sam wore heels in the last one, which made dancing with her tall partner much easier.

Now as comfortable with dancing as he believed he was going to be, John's main concern was to keep his focus on the task at hand. That would be difficult when his partner was, in most ways, a rookie to any type of surveillance.

The press conference held the day before the charity event had not rendered a lot of results that John or Finch considered useful. Their next shot was the event the following evening.

John tugged at the cuff of his shirt sleeve underneath the tux jacket. He wasn't used to being so confined. He adjusted the vest, and stretched his neck inside the collar of the stiff white shirt. He reached Sam's apartment and knocked.

A harsh whispering came from the other side of the door, along with scrambling noises.

The door cracked open revealing Eva's face.

"Hey, she's not quite ready yet." The door shut sharply and John stood alone in the hallway for another minute until Eva opened it again.

"Okay, come on in. Oh, honey," she said as John walked past her. "You need to spin for momma." Eva twirled her finger in the air and looked at him expectantly.

It had been a weird week. Somehow this female acquaintance of his asking him to turn for her like a fashion model didn't seem to faze him. John did a stiff three sixty, lifting his eyebrows when he met Eva again, as if asking for her approval. She nodded.

"Eva!" Sam called from her bedroom.

Eva ran into the hallway and disappeared.

John set the small paper bag he was carrying down on the couch and waited another thirty seconds before he heard a door open.

"It's these shoes, I still don't know about these shoes," Sam muttered from the hallway. "I could sprain an ankle."

"Nah. He'll catch you."

"Right, and that'll be discreet, the two of us falling over in the middle of everything," Sam muttered.

Fabric rustled and Eva snapped at Sam to stop messing with stuff, then the two women finally entered the living room.

John glanced up and felt his breath escape him as though he'd been punched in the stomach.

Sam walked in, wearing a floor length gown the color of a dark wine. It flowed and shimmered gently as she moved. She wore a short, three quarter length sleeved jacket of a fine black lace over the top of the dress that concealed just enough from the onlooker to make him curious.

Her hair was swept up in graceful curls on top of her head, some coming around and framing her face. She smiled with her now full, and dark colored lips, and her dark eyes seemed so much brighter than before.

"Finch," John said, his finger to his earpiece. "I thought you said we were supposed to be inconspicuous."

"Hah!" Sam clapped her hands together and pointed at him. "_That's_ the reaction I wanted, right there!" She and Eva shared a high five and cheered.

John quickly regained his composure. Despite how she looked, she was still the same Sam.

"I'll have you know that Harold personally approved this. He made me send him pictures when I was trying stuff on." Sam wrinkled her nose at the idea.

John glanced at Eva, hesitant to say anymore while she was in the room.

"Right," Eva said. "I'm off. You guys look great!" She gathered her things and was out the door before Sam had a chance to protest.

"Thanks!" Sam called after her.

"I have a few things for you," John said, grabbing the bag he had earlier.

Sam approached him and he stared again. She was much taller than usual. Sam seemed to notice the height difference as well.

"Wow, I can almost look you in the eye," she said, grinning.

John emptied the contents out of the bag.

He held up a flesh colored earpiece and dropped it in her hand. "Finch will be listening. He'll be able to hear us, but we won't hear each other, so there's no echo or overlapping."

"Got it," Sam tried it on for size.

"Do you have your gun?" John asked, picking up a thick strap of Velcro.

"I thought we were only observing," Sam said, taking the Velcro.

"I like being prepared." John said simply.

"I've got it in the closet. But, John," Sam held the black strap helplessly in her hands and shrugged. "Where do you expect me to put a gun?"

"In the same place you'll put this," he held up a cell phone. "It's already connected to that earpiece. That goes under the dress, around your leg, and no one will be the wiser."

Sam took the strap and the phone and disappeared again into her bedroom. John waited patiently through some disgruntled mutterings, and a few curses, accompanied by the sound of ripping Velcro until Sam came back, carrying a small, black clutch handbag.

"Anything else?" she asked as she approached him again.

"Not until we get there."

Sam set the clutch down and adjusted John's neck tie, smoothing it under his vest and jacket. She dusted some non existent particles off of his shoulders and smiled. "You look very handsome."

John felt uneasy in the pit of his stomach. Sam was already a distraction in her own right. On the bright side, at least she would distract others as well, and that would perhaps give him the time he needed to obtain some useful information.

He smiled faintly in return and took her hand. "Let's go."

Sam only swore once at how freezing it was before they got into the back of a town car, which pulled away as soon as John shut the door.

John watched, casually covering his mouth, which otherwise would have given away his amused expression, as Sam tested her new earpiece.

"Breaker, breaker, this is Princess Angelina to Mother of Pearl, over," she snorted.

"I can hear you just fine, Miss Tudin," Finch said stiffly from the driver's seat.

Sam sat back in her seat. Finch's sudden appearance in the car startled her.

"This was your idea, Finch," John said flatly.

"No need to rub it in," Finch eyed them from the rearview mirror. "You two do make a nice pair."

"Thank you," Sam said. "And I promise to behave."

Finch nodded. "You should stay close to Mr. Reese, and if you do get separated, continue reporting to me. It shouldn't be too difficult of a task for either of you."

"Did you find anything else on De Kamp?" John asked.

"Oh yes, I did," Finch said. "Large amounts of money from several different accounts were transferred just this morning to a single off shore account."

"Another boat?" John asked.

"I highly doubt it, Mr. Reese. Not for this amount of money. It adds up to over five hundred million."

"De Kamp?" Sam said. "Are you talking about Freddie De Kamp? _That's_ who this is about?" She gaped at John, then at Finch's reflection in the rearview mirror. Neither answered her and she whispered a shocked curse.

Suddenly, things seemed much more serious.


	3. Plain Sight

Finch drove steadily past the entrance of the hotel. It was brightly lit for those celebrities and the crème de la crème of New York who entered in the midst of the cameras and fans. The press were hunkered down in the cold by the rope that divided the rabble from some of the wealthiest people in the country.

John settled in, going over a checklist in his mind as he watched Sam. Her eyes were huge when she saw the continuous camera flashes and crowds of people all out in the record winter weather to catch a glimpse of a celebrity or two.

"We're not going in there?" Sam said, turning to Finch.

"The purpose is to keep as low of a profile as possible, Miss Tudin," Finch explained as he turned a corner, and pulled up to the curb. He twisted in his seat to face them.

"You'll be going in through the kitchen. But you can count on security posted at every access point in the place. Here are the invitations," Finch handed them to John, who slipped them into the inside of his tux jacket. "I suggest you look at the identities listed on the invitations before you go inside."

John pulled the invitations out and Sam leaned over his arm to take a look.

"Jonathan and Samantha Van Heidel," she read out loud. "We're from Chicago."

"Finch," John said flatly.

"The easiest way is to pass you off as a married couple. Oh yes, and you'll be needing these," Finch reached back again, but Sam beat John to it, and Finch dropped something into her hand. "I know you've acted the part before, Mr. Reese."

John exchanged a glance with Finch in the rearview mirror when Sam took his left hand and slipped a silver band onto his ring finger. She did the same for herself. They were official, now.

Sam was positively vibrating with nerves and excitement next to John. He stepped out of the car and opened her door, taking her hand as she stepped out.

The kitchen door opened. An employee tossed a bag of trash into the dumpster next to the building. John shouted for him to hold the door, and they were inside.

"It smells _fabulous_ in here!" Sam said as John led her through the large kitchen. She sniffed the air and John tugged at her arm to keep her from stopping.

Sure enough, a guard posted at the entrance stopped them, asking for their invitations.

John smiled kindly. "Just my wife and I. We're trying to avoid some of the press, you understand."

The guard nodded as he examined the invitations, and returned them to John with a courteous smile. "Welcome, Mr. Van Heidel," he said, and held the door open for the two of them.

"Thank you," Sam said before John could get her out.

The kitchen opened into an empty dining hall, all circular tables with fine, linen table clothes; every place setting made perfect and appealing to the eye.

"John, you're ripping my arm out of the socket," Sam hissed at him.

"Sorry, Sam," John said. He'd been so focused at getting into the place that he hadn't realized how she was faring behind him. "I haven't worked with a partner in a long time."

"Just remember, I'm you're wife, not your dog," she said. "Don't worry, I don't need a leash. I'll stay with you."

She took his hand and walked next to him out of the dining hall and into the foyer. John felt Sam jerk his hand. She gasped, gazing up at the enormous chandelier overhead, and the double staircase that lead to the second floor.

"Don't be so astounded, Mrs. Van Heidel," John whispered to her as they went up the stairs. "You're used to this kind of thing, remember?"

Sam straightened up at his reminder, and held her nose in the air as they reached the landing and the entrance to the ballroom.

* * *

"Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan Van Heidel." Their alleged names echoed through the ballroom as they entered. Sam gripped harder onto John's hand until she was quite sure he had no blood running to it.

A few heads turned at the announcement of the latest arrivals, looking mildly interested for a few seconds. Then everyone went back to business, which generally was drinking champagne and exchanging the latest posh gossip, or so Sam thought.

"We're in, Finch," John said, offering his arm to Sam.

Sam held onto him gratefully as she gazed around the room. She did her best to keep her expression as neutral as possible as she saw about a half a dozen chandeliers over head, the live orchestra sitting on stands by the far wall, not to mention all of the amazing gowns and jewelry that continued passing before her eyes.

"Well done, the both of you." Finch said in her ear. "I've been able hack into the feed for one of the surveillance cameras in the ballroom. Just to your right, above the buffet table."

Sam attempted to appear casual as she glanced over and saw the mounted camera in the corner of the room. It took every ounce of energy for her to keep from waving at Finch.

"So, where's De Kamp?" Sam muttered.

"His guests are still arriving," Finch said through her earpiece. "I wouldn't expect him to make an appearance until after the first few dances."

Sam nodded. "What else do we know, John?"

"De Kamp is single, late forties, and paranoid as all hell. He never married – "

"Is he straight?" Sam blurted.

John's eyes snapped to her and she shrugged. "It'd be nice to know which one of us should flirt with him if we got the chance, wouldn't it?"

John's expression darkened. Sam could tell he didn't think she was taking this as seriously as she should be.

"Mr. Van Heidel!"

Sam started, but John remained cool. A stout, beefy man pushed his way through the chattering crowd of nobs toward them.

He held out his hand and John took it graciously. "I believe I knew your father, boy!" he said happily.

"That is, unless you are him, and those facelifts are more miraculous than I thought!" He jabbed John playfully in the ribs. John laughed, completely in character.

Sam smiled at the bubbly, red faced man.

"I'd say it was my father, because I don't believe I've had the pleasure." John lifted his eyebrows.

"Oh, yes, Reginald Winston, Mr. Van Heigel," he took John's hand again in both of his and shook it violently. "I own some property up north, come to the old De Kamp fundraiser every year." His eyes flicked over to Sam just once and John got the message.

He put his arm around Sam's shoulders. "I'm sorry. This is my wife, Samantha."

"I knew he'd get to me eventually," Sam said with a big smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Winston."

Mr. Winston laughed as he took Sam's offered hand. "Bah! Call me Reggie. And believe me, the pleasure is completely mine." He kissed the top of her hand and winked at her. "I'll have to claim you for one of the dances before the offers start to pile up. Are you game?"

"Absolutely," Sam said, nodding.

"Bravo!" Mr. Winston clapped his pudgy hands together and excused himself so he could locate his wife.

"He seems nice," Sam said, lifting her eyebrows at John.

"I'd be careful who you promise to dance with, Miss Tudin," Finch drawled in her ear. "Reginald Winston Jr. owns a great deal of land, that's true. But his annual income is mostly procured from the black market."

Sam deflated a little. "Way to be a killjoy, Harold."

"I'm merely stating facts," Finch said reproachfully.

The orchestra started up and the chatter of the crowd died down. Sam understood immediately that this was a tradition that's been kept up for heaven knows how long. No wonder Finch was so serious about her and John becoming comfortable with dancing.

The crowd began to pair off and glide onto the dance floor. John didn't move, and Sam was grateful. She wasn't quite ready to dance in front of all of these very posh people yet. And once they started, Sam realized that she preferred to watch. All of the elegant gowns flowing around and about like feathers in the wind mesmerized her.

"Come on," John took her hand and they started around the perimeter of the room. Sam nodded when she was nodded to, and was gracious when she was greeted by those who pretended to know her.

"That's what's really funny," she said quietly. "Half of these people probably don't even know the other half. They just act like they do."

"Welcome to the world of Money," Finch said.

"Holy crap!" Sam hissed, grabbing onto John's arm and stopping them. "There's Donald Trump!"

She had to resist pointing and nodded her head blatantly in the direction of the buffet table. John let out a mildly interested laugh. "I didn't think we'd see him here seeing as how he's more of a TV personality now."

"Why wouldn't he be here?"

"Because TV personalities are viewed as a step down from the rest of the people here," John explained.

They continued along on their path around the perimeter, as the dancers and music moved onto the next song. John stopped. Sam was close enough to him that she felt him tense up.

"What is it?"

"Let's dance." Without any formality, he led Sam by the hand out onto the dance floor and pulled her close to him.

The orchestra started on a waltz, much to Sam's relief. John guided her expertly amongst the other dancers, while Sam did her best simply to keep her feet with those heels underneath her.

"I saw one of Elias' men, Finch, standing by the east door. Looks like he's posing as another security guard."

Sam held onto him tighter as she tried to look.

"No, Sam! Look at me," John said.

Sam looked at John who returned her panicked expression with a steely one. She only saw the change in his eyes. Somehow, he managed to keep his the indifferent look on his face.

"That's a little blatant, though," Finch said to them. "Not exactly his style, is it?"

"You think Elias is trying to get at De Kamp?" Sam asked. "Why would he do that?"

"Excellent question," Finch said. "Is this the only one you've seen, Mr. Reese?"

"So far, yes."

The music slowed, and John released Sam in a gentle spin as the song ended. He pulled her back to him and they stepped off of the floor.


	4. Mad World

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce your host for this evening," The orchestra conductor held his baton in his hands as he beamed at the crowd. "Mr. Freddie De Kamp!"

Sam and John applauded with the rest of the crowd as a man stepped out in front of the orchestra. He made a small bow and waved at his guests to quiet down. Sam had seen a picture or two of him while standing in a grocery store line. The tabloids claimed most of the credit for that. But somehow, in person, he didn't _look_ like a gajillionaire.

De Kamp was on the short side, his light hair was receding, which he tried to cover up by keeping his hair long in the front. He wasn't bad looking, but he wasn't entirely remarkable either. Sam shrugged as her brain placed him under the 'ordinary' category.

"I don't like big speeches," he said with a shy smile. "Welcome, to you all and I hope you enjoy the evening!"

He gave the microphone back to the conductor, who started the orchestra again. Sam watched De Kamp brush a hand through his hair as he stepped off of the stand. He kept his head down, as though concentrating on his feet, until he approached the nearest person, who happened to be Donald Trump of all people. De Kamp greeted him with a handshake and a pat on the back like they were old friends.

"He seems almost shy," Sam said out loud.

"He is that, indeed, my dear."

Sam glanced up at John, who shook his head. She then looked to her right and saw and older woman dressed to the nines, standing casually next to her.

"Do you know him?" Sam asked the woman, her eyes moving to the tiara buried in her silver curls.

"Since he was a boy," the woman said proudly. Her eyes rested upon Sam and she smiled. "Joan Lawnford, Miss?"

Mrs. Lawnford held out her hand to Sam. "Van Heidel, Samantha Van Heidel." Sam took her hand. Mrs. Lawnford gave it a squeeze and let go.

"I am Freddie's grandmother," she said. "On his mother's side, of course."

"Oh, it's very nice to meet you! Um," she yanked on John's hand. He'd gotten distracted, but she couldn't tell by what. "This is my husband, John."

"I don't recall ever seeing the two of you here before. I most certainly would remember such a handsome couple." She smiled.

"We've never attended before, but thank you."

John tugged back at Sam. He wanted to move again.

"It seems my presence is required elsewhere," Sam said to Mrs. Lawnford. "Please excuse us."

The old woman nodded and immediately turned to pounce on another couple that was passing in close proximity.

The next song was up tempo, and Sam grinned at John. "Oh, it's swing." She said, kicking her feet up behind her. "Come on, John."

"Sam, there are a few more important things going on here," John said through his teeth.

"I agree. Remember what you're there for, Miss Tudin."

"Party Pooper," Sam said, disappointed.

"I thought Finch was the killjoy," John said with a hint of a smile.

"Finch is the Killjoy. _You're_ the Party Pooper."

"There's my girl, right there!" a familiar voice accosted their ears.

Sam turned just in time to see the large face of Mr. Winston bearing down upon her. "You promised me a dance!" he said, taking her hand and yanking her away from John.

John let Sam go. She'd make an excellent distraction for the crowd while he investigated a bit.

Estimating at least two minutes for the duration of the dance, John stepped back against the wall and slipped out of the first exit he could find.

"Finch?"

"I can hear Mr. Winston's heavy breathing from here. I'm afraid he may collapse."

"That'll keep all of them busy for a little longer, then," John said.

The corridor was empty. No employees or security could be seen anywhere – the second red flag of the evening. John walked quickly, trying doors as he came upon them.

One opened into a bedroom. The lights were on, and on the bed lay a black duffel bag and briefcase. John checked the bag first. It was empty. He was about to go into the briefcase when he heard a toilet flush from the adjoining bathroom.

He strode out of the room and waited.

A man dressed in a black suit, identical to the rest of the security guards around the hotel, zipped up his pants as he came into the bedroom. He looked up and saw that the door was open.

When he approached the threshold, John's elbow was the last thing he would remember seeing.

John turned the man over. A gun was tucked into his pants, and a cell phone in his pocket.

"I just found another one, Finch."

"Elias?"

"Yeah. Something is going down here tonight."

John hid the body in the closet and locked the door from the inside. He quickly made his way back into the ballroom.

Sam caught sight of him and smiled. Her face was rosy and she appeared out of breath. Mr. Winston, however, was still standing in spite of Finch's prediction. John moved away from the wall but stopped his approach when Sam's attention was taken by someone else.

De Kamp himself tapped her on the shoulder and introduced himself. John watched as he took her by the hand and waited until the next song began.

"What's got you so preoccupied?"

John blinked and tore his eyes away from Sam dancing with De Kamp and saw a woman standing in front of him.

"Zoe." John said in greeting.

Zoe smiled.

* * *

Sam saw the woman who approached John. She was hardly dressed appropriately for the weather they were having. If she bent over, they'd all be in for a show. The woman was older, had strawberry blonde hair done up in a twist at the back of her head.

De Kamp turned her around and she lost view of them.

"Keep him talking Sam," Finch said into her ear.

"Oh yes, my husband, John, and I are really enjoying the city. We don't get out here very often."

"I apologize on behalf of the weather we've been having," De Kamp said, smiling sheepishly.

Sam laughed. "No one comes to New York for the weather."

"Are you staying here long?"

"For the week, probably. Maybe longer," Sam said. It was difficult keeping her screaming thoughts at bay. She was dancing with one of the richest men in the world, and he seemed genuinely interested in her of all people.

"I would love to show you around some of my favorite parts of the city," De Kamp said. "But, I don't have a lot of time left."

"What do you mean? Are you leaving?"

"In a manner of speaking," he said, looking nervous.

"It might do you some good, though – keeping away from the media. I know they never really let you get a rest, do they?"

"You are very kind, Mrs. Van Heidel."

"You can call me Sam," she said.

De Kamp smiled gratefully at the offer. Sam couldn't believe it but she pitied him. He had everything there was to be had in the world, yet he seemed like one of the saddest people she'd ever met.

"Sam," De Kamp said, as though trying it on for size.

"What would you like me to call you? Freddie?"

"Ugh, no! I've always hated that name."

"Really? But that's how everyone knows you."

"My father made sure of that. He was Freddie De Kamp and so am I. And that's how it should be," De Kamp mimicked his father jokingly.

But Sam could see very easily that she was standing on the precipice of years and years of work for an experienced therapist.

The dance ended and De Kamp stopped, but still held her as though he was ready to start up again.

"Come and meet my husband," Sam offered. She looked to where John had been standing earlier. He was still there, with that smiling woman. He seemed to know her already. Who could she be, then? Perhaps Finch would know.

"I'd better not, Sam," De Kamp said. He released her, but took her hand and kissed it gently. "Thank you for the dance."

De Kamp took a step away from her, and the room exploded.


	5. Of the Enemy

"What brings you here? Business as usual, I'm sure," Zoe said, standing closely to him.

The music started and John met Sam's eyes once more before she was turned around by De Kamp on the dance floor.

"I can probably say the same for you," John said.

Zoe was a difficult one to figure out. She was a woman who always found a solution, the moral and ethical parts came in later, if at all. John liked Zoe. But at times he felt that he couldn't fully trust her, and it put him on edge.

"Yes, you can say that," She nodded over to the buffet table to non other than Mr. Winston, who was picking at the cream truffles.

"Winston?" John asked, surprised. "He said that he was here with his wife."

"So he is," Zoe confirmed. "His _actual_ wife is at home in a wheel chair, poor thing, and I owed him a favor. So here we are."

John nodded. That sounded typical enough of Zoe.

"It's your turn, now," she said. "That is a sweet little thing I saw you with earlier."

The two of them watched as De Kamp led Sam around the dance floor.

"If you're at all interested, Miss Tudin is doing a decent job in keeping De Kamp talking," Finch said in his ear.

John sensed the irritation in his voice, but smiled at Zoe. "She's helping me out tonight," John explained.

"She's a little young for you," Zoe said off handedly.

John lifted his eyebrows and swallowed down a laugh. "And how old is Mr. Winston, would you say?"

"Touché," Zoe relented.

The song ended and John watched Sam and De Kamp carefully. He held onto her for a moment as she spoke. He then released her, kissing her hand, and stepped away.

The room lit up. Sam was blown back. John watched her hit the floor when another explosion went off, followed by another. The last one, the one closest to him lifted him off of his feet and slammed him hard into the wall.

John fell to the floor, spread eagled and semi conscious. Screams and flames erupted all around him as he tried to regain his focus.

"Finch," he said dully. "Finch?"

There was no answer. Something must have happened to the connection in the blast.

He quickly checked himself over, the only pain he felt was in his back, but it was only bruised. He was fine.

John looked up, squinting through the smoke and flames. Vague, shadows moved in and out of his view. He was alone next to one of the exits of the ball room. Smoke billowed around him as he got to his knees and began to crawl underneath the dark clouds. He pulled out his white pocket square and covered his mouth and nose.

His eyes watered and his ears rang with the echo of the explosions, but he continued around the perimeter of the room, shouting for Sam. His voice seemed to be swallowed up in the noise of the fire and other shouts of people.

His hand brushed against something soft that lie on the floor. John looked down and saw the body of a woman lying broken against the wall. He bent over her and felt for a pulse. She was already gone. John looked at her face and swallowed at the lump in his throat.

Zoe's normally playful eyes remained open, but were flat and dead, looking above them.

John continued his search.

* * *

Sam was blown off of her feet and slid along the floor until she hit a wall. Dazed, and blinking the stars out of her eyes, she saw the other bombs go off right in front of her, taking out the entire ballroom, one blast after another.

When she opened her eyes after the final explosion, everything was lit up with fire and smoke. The air filled with screams and the sounds of falling rubble.

"John," Sam said quietly, getting to her knees. "John!" she shouted into the fray.

"Sam! What happened? The surveillance just went dark a few seconds ago."

"Finch?" Sam put her hand to her ear, protecting the earpiece. "The entire place just went up. Someone planted a bomb."

"Get out of there!" Finch said.

"I have to find John. He might be hurt," Sam slowly got to her feet, and felt along the wall.

"He can take care of himself. Get yourself out of there now! I'm on my way to pick you up."

"Can you hear him, Harold?" Sam asked.

"What?"

"Can you hear John? Is he still coming through to you?"

Finch hesitated. "We lost contact."

"I'm going to find him."

She coughed and spluttered, crouching down as low as she could. She kicked off the ridiculous shoes and shuffled along the floor, squinting through the fire and smoke.

"John!" she called, and coughed as she inhaled more smoke than air.

The floor shuddered under her feet. The entire place felt like it was going to give way.

Sam crawled along the floor another few meters until she came upon a dark shape against the wall. She scrambled up to it and turned it over.

"John?"

"My dear, what happened?" Mrs. Lawnford squinted up at her.

"Mrs. Lawnford!" Sam coughed and hacked, her lungs fighting against the smoke. "Are you all right?"

"I believe so."

Sam helped the woman up, and looked around through the thick air.

"There's an exit sign right there," Sam pointed down the wall of the ballroom. The green, glowing letters of the exit pierced through the black smoke. "Go toward that, get out of the hotel."

"You're coming with me," Mrs. Lawnford grabbed Sam's arm.

She pulled away. "I have to find John. He's still in here."

Mrs. Lawnford looked at her sadly as she crouched down again.

Sam coughed and spat the smoke out of her lungs and mouth, but more continued coming in. Her eyes burned from the heat and debris, yet she kept going until someone bodily pulled her to her feet.

"You have to get out, miss." A security guard held tightly onto her and began leading her to one of the exits.

Sam struggled. "No! But John – my husband is still in there!" she shouted as they reached the corridor, and then the stairs. "Please, let me find him."

"Everyone is being evacuated. He will be brought out of the hotel with everyone else," the guard said reassuringly. "Just follow me."

"Go with him Sam. John will be fine. I'll meet you at the kitchen entrance in five minutes," Finch's voice crackled in her ear.

"Okay," Sam sighed as they headed down one of the emergency stair wells. It was a relief to breathe clearer air at least.

They reached the main floor, and the guard pushed the door open and held it for Sam. He grabbed onto her arm suddenly, and held her just outside the doorway.

"What are you – " Sam felt the prick in her shoulder; something was pulled over her eyes.

Everything went dark.

* * *

John strode out of the main entrance just before emergency services arrived. No one took notice of him as he walked along the sidewalk and slipped into the front seat of a black sedan.

"Where is she?" He took off the tux jacket, tossing it in the back and began unbuttoning the vest.

"I told her to meet me at the kitchen entrance, but she's not there. And she's not responding to me. I thought we lost the connection. I've checked, and everything is still working, but all I hear from her end is this," Finch turned the car stereo on and the two men listened intently to rustling and muffled, distorted voices.

"Perhaps she can't hear me," Finch theorized.

"Something's wrong. Elias' men were in there, Finch."

"What could they possibly want her for?"

John's fingers twitched, he could think of nothing else since he realized that Sam was missing.

The sedan sped on to HQ.

* * *

It was freezing! Sam's body shivered uncontrollably even before she was fully conscious. Sam awoke inside what looked like a storage shed of some kind. She was lying down upon a flimsy mattress on a metal bed frame next to a stack of crates and boxes. One door was on the opposite wall.

Sam took a breath and sat up. Her head spun from the drugs, but she forced herself to her feet, and shuffled over the freezing floor to the door. It was locked from the outside.

"Hello?" Sam called out desperately.

Sam felt around on her thigh, the Velcro strap was gone along with her gun and phone. She pumped her fists to keep the blood flowing in her fingers, and moved back to the mattress, simply to keep her bare feet off of the cold floor.

When she sat down, the door opened. Three men entered, wearing thick winter coats and hats. Sam shuddered at the even colder air that blew in from the outside.

"Samantha Tudin," one of the men said.

He took off his hood and hat, revealing a smooth head and fair skin. He was of average height, and wore delicately framed glasses over a pleasant face. Sam was reminded of her middle school math teacher.

He approached her and smiled faintly. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Carl Elias."

Sam forgot about the cold. Her blood boiled, and she stood. She moved slowly, as if she were in a dream. Sam faced him head on and let her hand fly. The slap cracked through the small room like a whip, and the back of her hand stung painfully. But she didn't care. She was about to go for another swing when the two other men grabbed onto her, holding her back. One hit her across the jaw as punishment.

Elias stood upright again and adjusted his glasses. A red streak slashed across his cheek where Sam's fake wedding band had scraped him. "Now, now, hold on gentlemen. Put her down."

Sam was lowered onto the mattress and released. She tasted blood and wiped her mouth with her hand. Glaring up at Elias, she imagined all of the things she wanted to do to him, but decided against acting on them at the time.

"You son of a bitch," she spat angrily.

"Tell me, Samantha, how have I wronged you?" Elias crouched down in front of her, speaking kindly.

"You bastard! You know how! My family is dead because of you." Tears were in her eyes, but she wasn't sad, she was furious.

"I do regret that, you know," Elias replied. "It was never what I intended to happen."

"That makes me feel so much better," Sam replied. Her sarcasm never lost on her.

"I lost my mother when I was very young. Believe me when I say that I understand how you feel. I understand your anger." He sat next to her on the bed.

"Why am I here?"

"The same reason you were at that party tonight: for John."

* * *

"It's no good. For some reason, she can't hear us, but she's still coming through." Finch adjusted the connection at the computer desk once more.

"Can you locate her phone?" John called from the other end of the room.

"Yes. They've taken her down to the river. Looks like she's in a warehouse by one of the loading docks."

John entered the room wearing a long black coat.

"Believe me when I say that I understand how you feel. I understand your anger." Elias' voice came through the speakers, and John's face turned to stone. He held a shot gun in his hands, one pistol was in his coat pocket, the other in the back of his pants.

"Send me the exact location," John said as he strode out of the room.

Finch sent the location to John's new phone.

"Why am I here?"

"The same reason you were at that party tonight: for John."


	6. Skies are Blue

Sam looked down at her dress. It was wrinkled; dirt and soot were smudged on the delicate fabric. Earlier that night she was at a party with John, simply doing him a favor and enjoying herself at the same time. When did things get complicated so quickly?

"You see, it's quite simple," Elias continued. "John will come for you, and when he does, I plan to kill him."

The words stung at Sam's insides. She couldn't think of any way to respond to such a statement.

"Over the past several months, John has… interfered with several operations I've put together, and to be completely honest, I'm getting tired. All of this unnecessary work he's created for me has become very tiresome."

"I'm so sorry for you," Sam snapped and shivered. It felt as though the room was getting colder, if that were possible.

"I always knew that this would be necessary at some point. I suppose I was wishing that it wouldn't be." Elias touched her shoulder and she jerked his hand away. "I understand he saved your life a few months back. He saved mine as well."

Sam had been avoiding his eyes until that point. She stared at him, her jaw clenching and her eyes filled with distrust.

"It was last year. I'm not surprised he never told you." Elias sighed. "I believe that debt has been repaid."

Sam's voice squeaked. Her mind was slowing with the cold, and she couldn't think of how or why John would purposefully save the life of a man responsible for so many deaths, including that of her family. There had to be an explanation.

"That was when the Russians had a lot of the power in this city, and they came after me. But I wouldn't judge him, Samantha. John didn't realize who he was saving until it was too late."

Elias nodded to the two men and they exited the room, letting in a blast of frigid air before the door closed again.

"It wasn't an easy decision to make," Elias continued as Samantha rubbed her numb feet and shivered. "I find usually that the best decisions are made in the moment. John always manages to get mixed up in my business." He chuckled to himself.

"You were at the party," Sam said.

"Not personally, no. But I had business there, as you have already guessed. Seeing you and John there was merely a bonus opportunity that I could not pass up." He met her eyes. Sam had never seen eyes like his before. It was as though she was looking into the eyes of a machine, cold and calculative.

"Rich people are selfish, Samantha. Mr. De Kamp was no different."

"You killed him!" Sam shouted.

"No," Elias said simply. "I had an arrangement with him. By staging a bombing at his party, Mr. De Kamp can and will be lost to the world forever. He only needed my help in the arrangements of the ballroom. The rest he did himself."

Sam gawked at him. "He faked his own death."

"To live the rest of his life in solitude, yes."

"But people probably died," Sam squeaked.

"As I said - selfish. It is important that you understand the ways of people, Samantha. You could be hurt otherwise."

Elias got to his feet and pulled his hat on. "It is regrettable. John has many extraordinary talents," he muttered.

Sam glared at him. "If you hurt him, I will kill you."

Elias blinked, an expression of bewilderment on his face. "Interesting - the finality in the way you say it. Why would you make such a promise?"

Sam looked down at her knees and didn't answer.

Elias smiled and his voice softened. "Ah, I see."

Sam curled her feet underneath her and turned her head away.

"You're in love with him." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact that Sam did not try to deny.

"I can understand that, I suppose. John is charming in his own way. But, how can you say that you know him at all?"

Sam lifted her head and met those cold, unfeeling eyes behind the glasses. "Whether any of that is true or not, it doesn't matter."

"Because he doesn't love you back?"

"No," Sam fought back her tears out of embarrassment and the fear that they'd freeze right to her face. "Because he can't – he won't. He'd never let himself."

"So, you're happy with what you can get," Elias said, finishing her thought for her.

* * *

Finch's glasses clattered onto the desk. He rubbed his tired eyes as he tried to wrap his normally active mind around what he was hearing. Thank the powers that be that John was not there. He would have started tearing apart New York City brick by brick. There was still a risk of that happening if they didn't find her soon.

"Finch," John's voice came through the phone speaker on the secondary connection. "She's not here."

Finch replaced his glasses on his face, and checked Sam's phone signal again, and then again. He muttered minor cursings under his breath. "They're scrambling the signal. I didn't realize it earlier. I'm getting a different location every time I try it now."

John growled over the phone. Finch heard a metallic slamming, then John again. "I'm going to look for her."

"You don't know where to start, Mr. Reese," Finch said steadily. "And the temperature's dropping by the minute. I will try and sort through the false signals. In the mean time, you're doing no good out there."

John didn't respond, and Finch sat back in his chair for a moment. If only Sam knew how desperate John was to get to her.

* * *

Elias pulled the hood of his thick winter coat over his head and moved toward the door. Sam watched him, and with her last sliver of strength, she stood. "Your mother was murdered," she said, and the room suddenly grew colder. Sam's knees were on the verge of collapse, but she remained where she was as Elias turned to her.

"She was."

"Wouldn't you have given anything if someone could have saved her for you? If someone could have interfered and helped her?"

Elias pressed his lips together tightly and his eyes hardened.

"That's what John does." Exhausted, Sam continued to speak though she believed her brain had already stopped working. "He saves lives like your mother's, and saves people of the pain of losing someone they love. Do you really want to take that chance away from everyone? You and I understand what that means. I haven't been able to breathe freely since my family was killed, but some people out there might still have the chance to keep breathing because of John. Please, please don't – "

Sam's knees buckled, and she sat down upon the mattress, leaning on the metal frame.

Elias stepped up to the bed. He reached into his coat pocket, extracting a pair of handcuffs. But, rather than put them on her wrists, he put one tightly around her ankle and the other on the bed frame. "I need to ensure that you don't escape, Samantha," he said.

"Please," Sam whispered, tears running down her face and into her hair as she lie on the bed. "Please don't."

Elias studied her for a moment. "You do love him," he muttered the confirmation with surprise in his voice before letting himself out and locking the door.

Sam lay in the unforgiving cold and darkness, and closed her eyes.

* * *

John stormed back into HQ. "Anything?"

"Not yet." Finch was still busy at the computer, trying to find a location.

"Can you still hear her?"

"She's gone quiet. I think he left her a few minutes ago," Finch's bird-like eyes quickly flicked to John's face then back to the monitors. "De Kamp is alive, so Elias explained. The whole point was to fake his death."

John stopped his pacing and looked at, Finch, his eyes flashing. "You said the machine is never wrong."

"And it wasn't, was it?" Finch said, his voice raised a little. "A murder was going to take place, De Kamp's life _was_ in danger. That is all we knew, and that is all the machine knows. If you had succeeded in rescuing him, it would have been just like any other case, aside from the fact that we would have had a bitter billionaire on our hands."

"People died in that room," John said, his voice shaking in anger.

"I know, John. It is unfortunate that we – "

"Sh!" John said sharply.

Finch went quiet.

"Do you hear that?"

The two men listened and a faint voice came through the phone speakers on the desk. Finch turned up the volume. "She's singing."

_… over the… rainbow_

_ skies are – are blue_

Sam's voice cracked and squeaked as she pushed out the words to the old song. They were barely audible

_and the dreams that… that you dare – you dare to dream_

_ really – really… really do co-ome true_

She breathed in between every word and stumbled over the phrases. John's arms went limp at his sides as he listened, then looked at Finch.

"Harold. Find her."

* * *

Sam lie on the bed as the night went on and the temperature dropped. Her eyes were half closed as she thought how fortunate she was. Freezing to death was much preferable to being burned alive. She smiled lazily as she remembered the conversations she used to have with Scottie, her little brother, about such a ridiculous subject.

When you freeze to death, you don't suffer much. You just fall asleep. Burning to death seemed like it would be much more traumatic.

She turned slowly onto her side, wrapping her arms around her. She could no longer feel her legs and feet, or her hands. But that was okay. Sam thought about her family. She'd probably be seeing them soon. She smiled again at the thought.

How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? When Sam couldn't figure it out, she discarded the idea. It wasn't worth it. And what did it matter anyway? She was dying. Soon, she would fall asleep, and everything would be okay. John would be safe. She only wished she could say goodbye to him, and to Eva.

_Somewhere – overthe rainbow_

_ wayuphigh…_

_ there's a – a land that I heard of_

_ once…in a – in a lull-aby…_

Sam felt herself begin to doze. She kept singing as long as she could breathe the icy air; it felt like knives each time she took a breath. But, she kept going.

Maybe she could say goodbye anyway. It would make her feel a little better, at least.

Sam finished the song, and her mind wandered further and deeper into itself.

"Goodbye, John."


	7. Dare to Dream

The iron hard sky slowly became faint with the gray light of dawn. Finch was having no luck tracing Sam's phone. John was losing patience. It had been hours and they'd been stuck in there with absolutely no leads. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, and tried coming up with another way he could find her. All he could think of was locating one of Elias' men, or Elias himself even. But he would have to know where to find one of them first.

He loathed the feeling of sheer helplessness that was over him. The feeling only fueled his anger at the situation and at himself.

Sam repeated the song over and over until she had stopped suddenly, and said goodbye. It had been a while since they last heard her. He was beginning to fear the worst.

John's phone rang. He answered it out of habit, but no response came from the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

He heard nothing but open air on the other end.

"Finch!" he hissed, snapping his fingers. "Trace this."

Finch did so. They got a location not far off from the original one. It was an abandoned building by the waterfront.

"Let's go."

"It may be a trap, Mr. Reese," Finch said, grabbing his coat.

"Then I'll spring it."

John gathered his artillery and ran out the door, Finch following behind.

* * *

In the early morning light, John leaped out of the car, armed with an automatic rifle, and two spare pistols stored about his person. He left Finch in the car and went towards the buildings along the river front.

The first warehouse was simply a space that held nothing except a few abandoned crates and tools.

John moved on to the next building, walking quickly. His ears pricked for any sound besides his own footsteps, and his eyes constantly scanning the area around him. Not a soul was in sight, and he continued through the building, checking every room, opening every door.

He reached the end of the building and was outside in the winter air once more. John looked to his left and saw a small storage space that looked like it had been added onto the building years after its construction. The only entrance was a heavy door. It was locked.

John considered kicking it in, but rejected the idea. The door looked heavy enough that he could hurt himself if he tried. He aimed the shot gun and put a couple rounds through the lock.

It swung open, and he stepped in.

Boxes and crates were stacked up against the wall, but John set his weapon down and stepped over to the old bed frame that sat next to the stacks.

Sam's breathing was shallow and her eyes were closed. John felt for a pulse in her throat. She was frozen! She was so cold that his fingertips burned when he touched her. She still had a pulse, but it was very slow.

"Oh, Sam," he said slowly.

She was ghostly pale, her lips, fingers and toes were purple. Her hair had fallen down, and was like a dark pool underneath her head. With that, and the evening gown she still wore, Sam looked more like a tragic princess from a forgotten fairy tale, waiting to be woken.

John removed his coat and forced her to sit up. He wrapped it snugly around her and started on the handcuffs. Her ankle was swollen and bruised around freezing metal. John picked the lock easily, and carefully removed it.

Sam let out a low groan, her voice cracking with the effort. John slung his weapon over his shoulder and scooped her up in his arms.

"No," she moaned at him. "No, John." She pushed at his shoulder as though she didn't want him to take her.

"Finch, I've got her. Turn the heat up in the car."

John ignored her weak struggling and held her close. He turned to leave, but stopped when something caught his eye. Sam's gun and her phone sat on one of the crates next to the wall. John let Sam's legs down for a moment as he put the items in his pocket. Putting her limp arms up around his neck, he picked her up again and carried her out of the shed.

Her face was like ice next to his, but he held her against him as firmly as possible as if his body heat could somehow be transferred to her and she'd be out of danger.

"Come on, Sam," he whispered to her. "You'll be okay. Do you hear me?"

He hurried through the abandoned building until his path was blocked by a single gunman. A handgun was pointed at John's head. The man twitched it, indicating his demand for John to put Sam down.

John set Sam on her feet and lowered her gently to the floor. There was no time for this. He was just one man. Let him get close.

John stepped forward, leaving Sam behind him.

"That's close enough!" The man shouted. He was alone, and he appeared to be more than aware of it.

Now that he was closer, John saw how young the man was, if he could even be called a man. He scowled. This was just a pawn. Elias put this guy here because somebody had to be here. He was meant for John to take down.

"Look, we both know what's going to happen here. Just let me get her out," he said calmly.

The gunman considered John's words, but shook his head and pointed the weapon at Sam instead. It was a mistake he would never repeat. John had the gun and the man on the floor inside a heartbeat. He emptied the magazine and tossed the weapon aside as he went back for Sam.

She fought feebly against him again as he picked her up.

"It's okay, Sam. You're going to be all right," John whispered to her. Her forehead rested against his neck as he carried her out to the car.

Finch got out and opened the back door for them, helping John ease her inside.

"What happened to her?" Finch got back in the driver's seat as John arranged Sam comfortably with him on the seat.

"She's frozen," he said.

She sat next to him, her legs draped over his lap. John wrapped his coat around her, covering her up as much as he could, and held her tightly to him, rubbing her back to get the blood flowing again.

"Turn the heat up," John said.

Finch put it at full blast as he put the car in drive.

"Sam?" John said.

He rubbed his hands down her arms, over her shoulders and back. She didn't respond to his voice, and her eyes were half closed. John brushed her hair away and let her rest against him as he continued trying to get her blood going.

"Come on, Sam," he said, his arms growing tired.

A phone rang inside the car. Finch looked around and glanced to the back seat. John held Sam against him as he search in his pockets. It was Sam's phone that was ringing. He answered it.

"Samantha?"

John's eyes narrowed, he and Finch exchanged a look in the rearview mirror.

"John?" Sam's voice sounded like sand paper.

John put the phone to her ear. She mumbled something at it, and listened. Whatever they wanted to tell her only took a second. Sam turned slowly away from the phone and buried her face in John's shoulder.

John put it back up to his ear. The line was dead.

* * *

Death wasn't too bad, actually. It happened just the way she and Scottie had discussed. She'd fallen asleep, and now she was very warm and comfortable - completely at peace.

Sam sighed out of relief and content, wondering what was supposed to happen next. She gradually opened her eyes and saw sunlight reflecting off of a white ceiling.

A low rumbling sound interrupted her small moment of tranquility. Sam recognized it as the heat turning on in her apartment. Confused, she lifted her head and realized she was covered in layers of blankets, lying on the couch in her apartment.

But it felt like such a tight fit for some reason. That was when she felt the strong arm wrapped around her middle, another was in the crook of her neck. Sam turned cautiously and physically started at seeing John asleep with her on the couch. His head was propped up on a pillow, and she now felt their legs tangled together underneath the blankets.

The shock was so overwhelming that Sam pushed against him and fell off of the couch, onto the floor.

"_Gah!_" she said as she landed in a soft pile of bedding. She was on her back, staring at the ceiling again.

John's fingers came over the couch cushion followed by his head of messy hair. He smiled lazily down at her. "Good morning – well," he checked his watch, "afternoon. Are you all right?"

Sam's body was a large knot of sore and tired muscles. Her right ankle throbbed with pain. "I feel like I've been run over by several fourteen-wheelers. You know, with the trailers attached and everything."

He reached down and touched her throat, checking her pulse. "Close to normal," he said. "And you've got some color back." He lightly brushed her cheek as he pulled his hand away.

"I thought I was dead."

"You came close."

Sam reached up and grabbed onto his sleeve. "You're wearing a t-shirt." One puzzle was now solved.

In the mush that was her brain, Sam worked through the events of the past twelve hours. She remembered flashes, sounds, but not everything as a whole.

"You came for me," she said, trying to remember.

"I promised I would find you, remember?"

"No," Sam whined, putting her hands to her face as she tried to make sense of the images in her head. "John, that was so stupid! You could've been killed."

John rolled his eyes. "I would hardly say that, Sam. The place was deserted… mostly."

"But that's what Elias said. That's why –" Sam squeezed her eyes shut and she sat up.

"Was I – did I sing?" she asked, sitting next to him on the couch.

John wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. "You were trying to stay awake."

"So you heard everything?"

"Yeah," John scratched the back of his head and stretched. "There was something wrong with the connection. We could hear you, but you couldn't hear us."

Slightly mortified, Sam tried again. "So you heard everything, all the things Elias said and I said and – "

"Finch did, yeah," John said, looking at her curiously.

Sam let out a small breath of relief. The conversation she had with Elias was coming back to her piece by piece.

"I remember sitting in the car," Sam said. "I heard your voice, and Harold."

"Do you remember the phone?" John asked.

"What?"

"Your phone rang, and they asked for you when you were waking up. Do you remember what they said?"

Sam worked on the memory and it came back to her. She felt the phone on her face, and John's heartbeat next to her ear. It was Elias' voice on the phone. He only said one thing to her: "Unlike John, I always call in my debts, Samantha."

"No, I can't remember," she lied.

John stood up. "You still need to rest. Are you hungry?"

"You're staying with me?"

"I'm taking the day off, yes."

Sam got up and stood next to him. She wrapped her arms around his middle and held him tightly. "Thank you, John." Standing on tip toe, she kissed him on the cheek.

"You're welcome."

Sam squeezed her eyes shut against the world, trying to keep John with her in this moment. Elias had let them go. She had somehow gotten through to him, but at what cost?

That didn't matter, because now, in this moment she was safe. She was with John. And he would always find her.

End of Part One

* * *

I do apologize for the cliff hangers. Not all of those were planned, I swear. But, I kind of view it as sort of the small drop before a commercial break while watching an episode. :P

Thank you all for reading and for posting your reviews! You are very kind and generous. I so enjoy reading your reactions to the story.

Part Two will be coming soon! Probably by the weekend.


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